Little Hearts
by Sache8
Summary: Fleur makes an unexpected friend.  Spoilers for Deathly Hallows.


**LITTLE HEARTS**

**by Sache8**

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In the years between the end of the war and the birth of her first child, there was a strange island of quiet time in Fleur's life. Truth be told, those years had always been something of a curiosity, a period in which she hardly recognized herself.

Perhaps it was their home, the cottage Bill had given her, perched so daintily above the sea, that tempered the fiery Miss Delacour. The haughty, dazzling teenager, the adored daughter, the doting big sister, the princess, the Triwizard champion – that girl would never have imagined she could be so contemplative. The waves, crested with so many colors of light, crashed on the rocks below the cliff and soothed her soul. They became a comfort in those first, dark days, and by the time the world began to breathe again, their rhythm was like an old friend.

The fire certainly wasn't _dead._ There were nights from that time that she would never forget, nights of heated, exultant joy that went beyond two bodies - they were celebrations love and freedom. Invariably these nights tended to follow days when her husband managed to offend every small newlywed pet peeve Fleur had acquired since their wedding, bringing the veela blood to a boil. It took longer than it should have for her to recognize that this wasn't coincidence, and she decided that Fred and George had probably received more that their fair share of credit for being the family experts of mischief.

Most days, however, Bill was gone, and Fleur was alone with the house, the sea, and the garden, with its little mound, its white stone, its message that said so little and so much. After a while, Fleur began to realize that the presence of Dobby's grave meant that she wasn't quite as alone as she thought. She wondered if Bill had ever been aware of them, the little parade of house elves that began visiting the garden of Shell Cottage like their own little Mecca. Probably he was. Bill always seemed to know things, often before Fleur herself became aware of them. But it had always seemed wrong to talk about it.

The elves who came to Dobby's grave, whether out of respect or curiosity, would come at any given hour, and Fleur never did manage to spot them in their comings and goings. At any given moment she'd look up from her work and see the crown of a small head and the tips of two large ears peeking out from among the shrubs and she'd know to avoid the garden for a while.

Sometimes she found these small intrusions quite touching. Other days they made her scowl, but she had only to think of Harry, digging as though the ground might yield back his broken heart, and she pressed her lips together to close off all complaint. It was an honor, she reminded herself, that little mound in her garden.

Two years passed, carefree and serene. Fleur was happier than she ever would have imagined she'd be in such trappings. For one, she never would have dreamed she'd have so much in common with her mother-in-law. The selfish young woman cooped up in the Burrow had not understood what a champion really was until she'd seen Bill's broken body the night Dumbledore had died. Finally, she'd understood that caring for someone else required a tremendous amount of courage. She certainly couldn't imagine trying to care for _eight_. At least not yet.

She'd known that some kind of change was in the air the brisk morning she'd been carrying a basket outside to pull turnips and tripped over one of the elves. She hadn't seen the little creature, who had been sitting by the grave rather than standing. Now Fluer found herself, most unwillingly, sprawled on the ground in an undignified position, with dirt and grass stains on her robes, staring across a patch of ground at the elf. Almost instantly, the elf squeaked and scrambled to her feet, and it took Fleur a moment to realize the elf was wearing clothes.

"Winky is sorry, Mistress!" the elf cried. "Winky is not hearing you coming!" She looked frantic and nervous, her ears drooping and her whole body trembling as though she feared a reprimand for her presence there.

Fleur scowled and shifted all her weight to her left hand, the better to examine the painful scrape on her right palm that was now throbbing uncomfortably. This was one of those times when she was _not _pleased to have a war memorial in the back garden. She reached into her pocket for her wand in order to heal the injury, and stopped short when she noticed the elf's violent recoil at the gesture.

Slowly, Fleur lowered her hand again, the pain temporarily forgotten. The house elf, dressed in smart little blue clothes with the Hogwarts crest, looked terrified, her eyes darting between Fleur's pocket and her face.

"Well, per'aps you should not be sitting een my garden, zen," Fleur said tartly. "Per'aps one of zese days, all zese elves will remember who else lives here," she added, more to herself than to her audience.

She glanced back at the forlorn little elf before her and sighed. "Are you 'urt?" she asked.

Slowly, the elf shook her head. She looked around, spotted the stray basket, which had landed a few feet away, trotted over to it, and carried it back to Fleur.

"_Merci_," said Fleur softly, taking it. As she did so, she got a good look at the elf's face. She had a very round nose, almost as round as her enormous blue eyes. "You must 'ave known 'im well, zis Dobby," she added. "Eef you were so lost een concentration you did not 'ear me coming."

The elf – Winky – sniffed once, rubbing the back of her long fingers underneath her bright nose. "Dobby is taking care of Winky," she said sadly, turning to glance back at the grave again. "When Winky was so sad. Dobby was Winky's friend." She looked down at her hands and her ears drooped sadly. "Winky was not appreciating it."

Now Fleur did sit up a little. Feeling it was now probably safe to reach for her wand without terrorizing the house elf, she did so, quietly murmuring the healing spell under her breath. The throbbing pain ceased immediately, and Fleur gave a small smirk of satisfaction before turning her attention back to Winky. The elf was now watching her with less trepidation and more polite interest. She seemed to Fleur to have a very old look in her eyes, like someone who'd been exhausted for so long they didn't remember what anything else felt like.

"'Ave you been 'ere before, zen?" Fleur asked.

Shamefacedly, Winky shook her head, making her ears flop wildly. "No, Mistress. Winky is to frightened to be coming before now."

"Why?"

Winky glanced over at the cliff and backed up a couple of steps. "Winky is afeared of heights," she said in a small voice.

Fleur's heart lurched with unbidden sympathy and she gave a kind smile. Gabrielle was terrified of heights too. "But now you 'ave come," she observed.

Winky nibbled on the end of one of her long fingers and nodded, gazing back at Dobby's grave again sadly. Then she sighed and gave another loud sniff. "And now Winky must be returning. There is always work to be doing at Hogwarts." She didn't look particularly excited at the prospect. "Good day, Mistress," she said, giving a little bow. "Winky is sorry for being in the way."

"Wait!" Fleur cried, holding out a hand before the elf popped away. "Would you like to come in ze 'ouse?" she asked. "Would you like to 'ave some tea?"

It hadn't seemed likely that Winky's eyes could get any wider, but wider they got. She looked positively scandalized. "Tea?" she squeaked. "Oh, no, Mistress, Winky will not take tea with a witch. No, no." She almost glared, and Fleur had to resist the urge to giggle.

"Very well, zen," she said, climbing to her feet. "You need not drink eet, but please come in ze 'ouse. I would like to 'ear about Dobby."

She took two steps back toward the house before turning back expectantly. Winky hesitated for a few heartbeats, glancing over her shoulder and then back at Fleur a few times, once again chewing on a fingertip. Then, with an abruptness that took Fleur by surprise, she nodded and began trotting after Fleur toward Shell Cottage.

Fleur stacked four large cookbooks on a chair so that Winky could sit comfortably at the table. She set the tea things out (two cups, in case the elf changed her mind), and turned to cut up some cake. When she turned back she was taken aback to see that her own cup was already full to brim with dark tea, and that Winky was holding the sugar bowl aloft like a trophy. "Does Mistress take sugar?"

It was a very odd tea. Winky kept trying to do all the serving, though she took no tea herself, and Fleur's attempts to discourage her went utterly unheeded, so eventually she stopped trying. But she did make an effort to ask the elf polite questions, and the longer the hour went, the chattier Winky became. It seemed as though a cloud was being lifted off her small face as she talked, and Fleur wondered how long it had been since she'd talked with _anyone_. She talked about her former family, her former Mistress, and how she'd taken her tea, and how Winky had always known exactly the right amount of sugar, and about how she knew how to keep linens white for centuries (an old family secret) and a dozen other such domestic tales.

Eventually the story found its way to (in Winky's obvious opinion) its tragic ending. Her dismissal, her humiliation, her _clothes_ (at which point she looked down at her uniform in severe dislike), and how she had most miserably accompanied Dobby to find work at Hogwarts.

"Surely zere is work to enough to make you 'appy at 'Ogwarts," Fleur said kindly. "Zere are many of your kind zere too."

Close-lipped, Winky nodded. "You is right, Mistress," she said. "But Dobby was Winky's only friend. Winky shamed herself at Hogwarts. Winky is having no friends after her shameful behavior."

Not sure how to respond to this proclamation, Fleur took a sip of her tea.

"Is Mistress needing a house elf?"

Only extremely good breeding prevented Fleur from spitting her tea all over the table, as one of her brothers-in-law might have done. She swallowed hastily and goggled slightly at the elf, who was looking at her with a hopeful expression.

"Zat is very—" she began. "I do not—" She cleared her throat. "No, we are not need a 'ouse elf." She could practically feel her soon-to-be new sister Hermione glaring over her shoulder.

Winky looked crestfallen. Fleur fumbled about for words trying to placate the elf. She had a feeling that Winky was not going to hear any reasons having to do with equitable house elf rights. While Fleur sympathized with Hermione and Harry's stance on the matter, being not completely human herself, she also knew that it would be a long, long time before the elves themselves were ever convinced, if it happened at all. She tried to offer an excuse that might be sufficient for Winky.

"Zere is not much work to be doing 'ere," she said, truthfully. "Eef I 'ad a 'ouse elf, I would have nothing to do." This next was slightly less true. Fleur had actually been considering going back to work for Gringotts again. She was finally beginning to have her fill of solitude in her new home.

To Fleur's surprise, Winky's expression became one of shrewd smugness. "You is needing help soon enough, Mistress," she said.

Fleur raised her eyebrows. "And 'ow is zat?" she asked, wary.

"You is going to have a baby."

This time Fleur was sure she would have spewed her tea, had she been drinking it. "_Quoi_?' she asked.

Winky looked extremely proud of herself. "Winky said, Mistress is going to have a baby."

"'Ow can you possibly—?" Fleur sputtered. It was true that she and Bill had been hoping for a baby for a while, but the idea that a house elf could possibly know before _she_ did was ludicrous, and frankly almost offensive.

"House elves always know," Winky said, and shrugged. "At least, _we_ do," she added. She leaned in conspiratorially. "But not the others. Dobby would not have known."

It took Fleur a moment to realize that Winky was talking about female versus male elves. She couldn't help it. She smiled. "Why would you want to come be a 'ouse elf?" she asked. "You are free now."

Winky's ears drooped sadly. "Winky is not happy. Winky misses having a family. Even with good work at Hogwarts, it is not needing Winky. Winky is wanting a family," she added again feebly. Then she caught Fleur's eye and added in the smallest voice yet, "a _good_ family."

There, Fleur thought, was something against which even Hermione could not argue. It was true she had no particular need of a house elf. But maybe a house elf had need of her. "Come and visit me again tomorrow," she said. "I will discuss it with my 'usband."

A week later, Winky was happily settled in the Weasley household, and Fleur's little house sparkled from ceiling to baseboards. It was excellent timing too, she often reflected later, because for the next few weeks she was utterly useless herself, bedridden with morning sickness and exhaustion. When she was feeling strong enough, she worked on a special project – a dress for Winky, fashioned out of a crisp white pillowcase, but with enough embellishment to assure the predictably irked Hermione that it was, in fact, a true dress.

When Victoire was born, it was Winky who washed the little girl with tender care and passed her to her mother, and Fleur found herself wondering how she'd ever done without the house elf, her friend, and the first of the two little hearts that would become the start of a wonderful family.

Winky's family.

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Feedback much loved!


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